


What Gangsters Do

by tristinai



Series: Bad Decisions [4]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Smut, Barebacking, Brief descriptions of murder, Hand Jobs, Illegal Activities, M/M, Manipulation, Nines' POV, POV Third Person, Tender Sex, Unresolved Emotional Tension, bottom!Gavin, everyone's catching feelings like it's herpes, gangster au, gangster!Nines, mentions of Nines/OMC, mentions of recreational drug use, past Convin, reed900, top!Nines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-15 02:37:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18064955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristinai/pseuds/tristinai
Summary: Nines never sleeps with a target. That all changes with Gavin Reed.





	What Gangsters Do

**Author's Note:**

> I've been on the fence about making this into a fic because these started off as POV scenes I wrote to get myself in Nines' head space for other fics in the Bad Decisions series. So a fair warning: this is stylistically different than the other stories. There are time jumps that will be explained in a moment. I also consider this outside of the regular series, though it's being included for readers who follow Bad Decisions and are interested in Nines' perspective. The next part is complete and will be released when I have finished editing it.
> 
> The Time Line in Bad Decisions:
> 
>  
> 
> _December 2038_ : Pre-[One Shot, Two Shot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17590016)
> 
>  
> 
> _January 2039_ : Post-[One Shot, Two Shot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17590016)
> 
>  
> 
> _February 2039_ : Post-[Bad Boy Down](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17824319)
> 
>  
> 
> _March 2039_ : The night after [Bang Bang](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17971700)
> 
>  
> 
> If you end up enjoying this, you have [NixObscura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NixObscura/pseuds/NixObscura) to thank because I've been sitting on these and would have kept them for myself without her encouragement. Fun fact: I had actually given up on writing Reed900 fanfiction until I received a rather encouraging message from her that kick started this series. She is an extremely lovely person and has become a dear friend. Thank you so much for supporting me <3\. And thank you to everyone else for your great comments. All of you have been absolutely amazing!  
>  
> 
> As always, please check the tags before continuing. Happy reading!

_December 2038_

 

“...is prone to impulsive behavior and has been treated in the hospital three times in the past 12 months alone, for injuries received on the job,” Nines says, placing the tablet on the surface of the ebony desk and indicating to the open file. “Records I have been able to procure from the Detroit Medical Center. This rather...extensive history fits the profile I have compiled on the Target: though his record at the DPD may suggest we are dealing with a brilliant,” and really, that was laughable, “detective, his tendency to indulge his counter productive impulses would indicate that he is not only brash but reckless, perhaps susceptible to subtle influence when presented with temptations that go against self-preservation. His lack of a social circle would also suggest an introverted personality and this has been confirmed by our own cops at the precinct: they have stated he is abrasive and most unpleasant to be around.”

 

“So...how much am I looking at?” Elijah Kamski asks. He reaches for his tumbler, leans back in his leather chair, his cool gaze regarding Nines with an ennui that must come with the easy power the man exudes: the multimillionaire’s empire was built on his hand in Detroit’s illegal arms and drug trade and he is a king among the dark underbelly, sitting upon a platinum throne with no one to challenge him. Those who do are given two options: take the bribe or select your casket. The latter is the reason Kamksi has Nines. “There must be something an overworked detective wants: new house, new car...a promotion? We can have him transferred to one of the other precincts, where we own most the cops. It’s about time Gavin Reed’s hard work is recognized.”

 

Nines can’t help but smirk, leans forward to swipe his finger across the screen of the tablet. The medical record is replaced with a photo of a younger, smiling Gavin Reed, on the day of his graduation from the police academy. “He is ambitious, yes. However, he prides himself in his work and while I suspect his moral compass is not as resolute as some of the other officers working under Captain Anderson, he has yet to respond positively to the subtle suggestions offered by the cops we’ve planted in his department. I don’t believe he can be bribed.”

 

Kamski takes a slow sip of his whiskey, pauses in quiet contemplation. “You said that the DPD intends to send him undercover?”

 

“Yes. These are the details we have been able to retrieve from one of our men involved in the investigation,” Nines says, swiping the screen once more to a new file.

 

“Well...we can’t have that.” Kamski takes the tablet, skims the information Nines provided in the document. “A cop that can’t be bought. Tell me, Nines: what would you do with him?”

 

“There’s only one thing we can do: kill him.”

 

“That’s your answer to everything.”

 

Nines was anticipating some objection to his suggestion: hiding a body always presents a challenge and while their target is hardly well connected, a missing detective is bound to draw a lot of attention.

 

“It’s the sensible option. Having him removed from the investigation poses some...complications. The Andersons have been cleaning house since Captain Fowler’s transfer and with the Target’s predisposition to avoid social interactions with his peers, none of our cops have gotten close enough to implicate or discredit him,” Nines answers. “His history with the Lieutenant also makes it difficult to plant suspicions of disreputable conduct. We are, unfortunately, unable to manipulate the situation from inside the DPD.”

 

Kamski places the tablet back down on his desk. It’s sleek surface shines in the minimal light streaming through the tinted panels lining the large, wall-length windows behind him.

 

“Let’s say I entertain this: how would you recommend eliminating our ‘problem’?”

 

“I have already considered three viable ‘solutions’,” Nines says and he can’t help his deranged grin as he imagines the scenarios he’s come up with. “Option 1: The Target insists on using a vehicle that operates manually and relies on old parts no longer on the market. Most of these older vehicles are prone to malfunctioning and with the harsh weather conditions we have been experiencing this winter, it would be a shame if Detective Reed found himself in a road-related accident.”

 

“That’s...less elaborate than I was expecting,” Kamski admits, swirls his whiskey—a Macallan vintage, not a bad choice—before drinking from it.

 

“It would be easy to stage an accident after a bit of tinkering. And none of us would have to make contact with the Target.”

 

“It’s also unreliable. There is the possibility of the detective discovering the issue and having his vehicle repaired. Or surviving any accident he gets into. What else were you thinking?”

 

“Option 2: We take advantage of the physical similarities I share with the Target’s partner and lure him to a remote location. Some place where it will be easy for me to clean up and dispose of the body.”

 

“They are specifically profiling you,” Kamski points out and Nines feels his mouth pull in a scowl at the reminder of his slip up, of that CCTV footage that exposed him to the DPD. Nearly nine years, he’s remained under the radar working for Kamski and now, an entire department is working to connect him to the number of people who have disappeared after double-crossing the crime lord. “And if what you’ve said about Lieutenant Anderson and Detective Reed’s relationship is true, I suspect it will take more than dressing up as the lieutenant to convince him to go anywhere with you.”

 

Nines frowns. “Then, perhaps, option 3: I have broken into the Target’s apartment multiple times and circumvented the building’s CCTV. Given the precarious nature of Detective Reed’s mental state: his partner leaving him, being consistently overlooked for promotion, and his loneliness which has led to excessive drinking, I believe I can stage a suicide and none would be the wiser.”

 

It would be the most fitting way of eliminating Gavin Reed: the pathetic excuse of a man wastes his evenings sulking in misery in his apartment, bears the cruelty of the world with a self-deprecating grimace and has become the shell of the potential Nines uncovered in his research. If anything, he would be doing the wretched idiot a favor.

 

Kamski has become quiet once more and Nines is beginning to become impatient, though he tries not to let it show. He has been itching for a cigarette but Elijah has always been strict about no smoking within his office.

 

“While I have no doubt you would be able to pull that off, there is something that’s come to my attention.”

 

He opens one of the desk drawers, pulls out an envelope, and slides it across the table towards Nines. Nines sees it’s already been opened: from the DNA Diagnostics Center. He thinks he knows what the letter contains but removes it anyway and reads it.

 

“It’s as you suspected,” he says, after a minute. “I imagine this changes everything.”

 

“There are some lines you and I refuse to cross,” Kamski answers, pausing to take another sip of whiskey. “And neither of us is in the business of fratricide.”

 

A pity. Nines had been looking forward to killing his first cop. But he knows cop killing is a messy business and a lot more difficult to get away with than the shady low lifes Kamski usually has him go after.

 

“What, then, do you propose we do?”

 

“I want _you_ , my dear Nines, to do what you do best,” and he doesn’t miss the knowing look Kamski’s giving him, guesses precisely which of his talents he will be employing, “distract him. Make him less...effective in his investigation.”

 

Distract him?

 

Nines pulls up an image on the tablet, something recent: Gavin Reed appearing his morose, surly self, slouched in the corner of a cafe as he absently toys with his phone. For an investigator with his record, he can be incredibly obtuse and, in a lot of ways, disappointing: not once has he suspected he’s being followed, nor has he noticed anything off from the times Nines has broken in to learn more about the miserable wreck of a man. Nines is meticulous and would never make a rookie mistake, such as misplacing an item he’s tinkered with, but that doesn’t mean he hadn’t been hoping the Target had at least a sixth sense for when he was being spied on.

 

What can he say? Nines enjoys a good chase. And so far with Gavin Reed, there’s been no chase.

 

Taking another inquisitive glance at the crisp image, Nines lets it sink in what Kamski is asking of him: a distraction that doesn’t lead to a bloody end is playing the long game _._ That entails slowly working his way into the Target’s head, testing the flexibility of his morality, and, above all else, dismantling those foundations that make Gavin Reed go from _threat_ to _complacent_. And with his self-destructive habits, all it should take is catering to that pathetic need of his to feel wanted to make him putty in Nines’ hands.

 

Looking up from the tablet, Nines’ smirk is malicious.

 

“ _That_ is something I should have no problem accomplishing,” he answers, confidently.

 

Objective acquired: seduce Gavin Reed.

 

* * *

 

_January 2039_

 

Nines peels off his gloves, pulls out a Ziploc and deposits them in the plastic baggie. He shoves it inside one of the inner pockets of his Armani trench coat, mentally reminds himself to not forget to dispose of them properly later; there’s nothing more off-putting than finding month old latex gloves stained with blood in one’s pocket. Even the thought of the last time he had been so careless has him grimacing as he pulls out a cigarette.

 

The cool breeze ruffles his hair as he heads towards the vehicle he lifted for this particular venture. Dirk Jones failed in the one task he had been given and that was to make certain his idiot associate didn’t get overzealous in his handling of Detective Reed. As a result, it seems only appropriate that Nines use his vehicle to dump the corpse at the designated drop site and plant evidence to suggest it had been Jones who bludgeoned Brady to death and then hastily disposed of the body. Traffic CCTV will track the vehicle’s license plate to the location and when those morons at the department finally find the corpse, they’ll put out an APB on Jones, who’s agreed to do time for disobeying orders.

 

After all, it would be a shame if Nines had to pay a visit to Jones’ wife and young son.

 

Inhaling deeply from the cigarette, Nines holds the sweet nicotine in his lungs, wisps of smoke expelling from his parted lips when he slowly exhales. If he’s being a bit honest, he thinks Kamski took it a bit too far: the man’s become obsessed since confirming Gavin is the bastard love child of some floozy his father had an affair with nearly four decades ago. Nines couldn’t give two shits if Gavin had been brought to him beaten within an inch of his life. However, orders were orders and if Kamski says no harm is to come to the detective, it’s Nines’ job to ensure they are followed. The untimely death of Brady will hopefully ensure everyone else falls in line and not test the man’s patience.

 

He finishes his cigarette, stubs it out, and then adds it to the Ziploc. No point in leaving behind evidence that will have the DPD expanding their list of suspects.

 

Taking out his leather gloves, he slips them on before getting inside the old chevy he left running. One of the pre-self driving models and what is it with Gen Zers insisting on using these outdated vehicles? It’s as if they are clinging to the stone age era of technology. His own target caters to the same whim and it has Nines wanting to roll his eyes as he thinks of the detective’s old beater.

 

Speaking of…

 

Nines takes the tablet he brought with him, brings up the document he seeks with the touch-enabled gloves he’s wearing: Gavin Reed’s statement, forwarded to him by one of their detectives also working the Kamski case. He can’t help chuckling as he glances over the file for perhaps the tenth time that day, brimming with pride as the detective fails to even identify Brady and Jones. It wasn’t entirely what Nines had expected: he assumed Reed vindictive enough to at least name the men who jumped him, yet it seems Gavin has no interest in admitting to anything that could potentially implicate Nines.

 

The gangster’s lips curl in a smirk.

 

“Gavin Reed, you are too easy,” he says to himself.

 

Still, he had sent Reed a video earlier, if not out of his own sick amusement then to hint at his willingness to blackmail the detective should, at any point in the future, Gavin decide to grow a conscience.

 

That’s the last thing he needs: a man with morals.

 

But, much to Nines’ delight, after their encounter, he’s already found the detective corruptible.

 

Now, it’s only a matter of testing how far he can push those boundaries to make Gavin his completely.

 

* * *

 

_February 2039_

 

Nines doesn’t sleep with targets.

 

Part of it is the futility of it. Most often, a target is someone he’s been assigned to threaten into submission or to kill. There’s nothing at all appealing about fucking a sniveling idiot begging for his life, nor of sticking his cock in someone who’s about to die by his hands. Nines has standards and dead men walking fail to meet those.

 

Sometimes, in rare cases, Nines is sought to help close a deal for Kamski. That realtor who’s playing hardball on some prime housing Kamski needs for one of his operations? Send in Nines to butter up the asshole, all at Elijah’s expense. Half a bottle of wine and some suggestive comments later, Nines usually has the moron ready to give away the real estate, if only for the possibility of being able to fuck him later.

 

Nines, of course, never takes it that far. It’s a business transaction and he’s no whore: the most he’s willing to sell is a _no_ disguised as a _maybe_ but it’s often _enough_. It’s a charade he has to keep up for some time but these are men who enjoy the thrill of chasing him and Kamski’s reaping the benefits of their idiocy.

 

That doesn’t mean, however, that Nines has never played dirty. Everything he’s learned in entertaining the proclivities of weak-willed men, he’s learned from Kamski. Ever since the drug King Pin took him under his wing, Nines has been groomed to use every tool in his arsenal to be effective at what he does and sometimes, luring a target requires a more delicate touch.

 

Such was the case back in the winter of 2036. Nines invites a dealer who’s been skimming more than he’s owed over to one of Kamski’s flats under the pretense of a “business meeting”. Nines had seen the way the man’s eyes tend to linger on him in the few interactions they’ve had before and he uses it to his advantage, dressed in a fitted suit that accentuates all of his ‘assets’ as he coyly sips whiskey from his tumbler. It doesn’t take much to have the deadbeat drop his guard: Nines has only to trail his fingers along the inside of the man’s wrist, drop a few comments about Kamski’s jacuzzi, and the fool’s looking at him with such want, Nines knows he’s trapped him in his web.

 

A few drinks and some suggestive remarks later, Nines is pressed to a wall, shirt unbuttoned, and moaning lasciviously as the dealer’s kissing his naked chest. Inwardly, the gangster’s struggling to not reel in disgust each time the idiot touches him and not even the sound of the dealer falling to his knees can make Nines’ cock fill completely, whose mind is forced to draw on past experiences with more preferable men just to bring him to half mast.

 

But Nines plays the game, laughing softly and cradling the man’s face with his hands, giving him the same, pathetic look he’s seen love struck idiots indulge in vulgar displays of affection. Blue eyes gaze up at him with such need and yet all Nines feels in that moment is the growing sense of elation leading up to the inevitable _snap._

 

That’s all it takes: the dropping of the target’s guard, the perfect angle, and the right amount of pressure to break the bone, and the drug dealer is crumpling to the ground in a broken heap. Nines takes a long shower after that, scrubs his skin raw to rid himself of that man’s filthy mouth on his flesh, all the while sporting an erection he’s in mood to indulge because nothing gets him quite as hard as feeling bone snap within his hands.

 

Enter Gavin Reed. And suddenly, all those careful rules he’s been playing by need to be reassessed. What he did next may have been in poor taste, given his “history” with Elijah, but it got him results.

 

The first time with Gavin, it’s easy for him to ease into the role of seducer: Nines hasn’t fucked anyone in a while and burying himself in someone he knows means _something_ to his moronic twin fills him with a high not even breaking bones can compete with. He wants to leave his mark on Gavin Reed because even if Connor isn’t aware of it, Nines _is_ , and it’s that feeling of taking something away from Connor that makes Nines unexpectedly enthusiastic in manipulating Gavin to the point where he’ll give in with little resistance.

 

The second time, Nines needs to step up his game. Multiple viewings of the footage from the warehouse—specifically for research purposes—has led Nines to conclude that the more possessive and tender he is with the detective, the stronger the detective’s response. It’s a bit nauseating and, if Nines is honest, he’d much prefer stoking more of that fire he knows burns inside the detective, dragging his nails to mark olive flesh and fucking the man until he’s a weeping, broken mess begging for something only Nines can give him.

 

But Nines indulges him with false smiles and sweet words because Gavin is desperate enough to want them to be true, truly believes that there may be someone out there capable of loving his miserable self. It’s so sad, Nines is half tempted to change the detective’s ringtone to _Despacito_ just to see if the moron can take a fucking hint. There’s nothing at all attractive about the pitiful way Gavin carries himself and yet Nines has to pretend it’s endearing.

 

Incidentally, that’s what finds him in the detective’s apartment weeks later, preparing lemon-glazed chicken and an array of vegetables for dinner. He’s broken in for...he’s really lost count at this point, and he’s started cooking meals when he knows the detective will be kept late at the station. Again, merely an act of sentiment that’s supposed to warm Gavin to him, make him buy more into the game Nines is playing.

 

“—Christ, again?!”

 

Gavin nearly crashes into a side table near the entrance when he notices Nines in the kitchen.

 

“You know, a booty call usually _calls_ first,” he complains, tossing off his coat and flinging it on the couch.

 

Nines tenses, already feels the barb on his tongue, _A booty call suggests I’m here of my own volition_ but that would invite a lot more questions than assuage the jab at his pride. So he smiles, reaches into the oven to remove the chicken breasts he was keeping warm, and places the glass pan on the counter. “You’ve pointed out on multiple occasions how much you hate talking on the phone.”

 

“Figure of speech. You don’t need to actually call, babe.”

 

The term of endearment leaves an odd sensation in Nines’ chest. It’s happened a few times now and he hasn’t decided if he likes it.

 

Lifting a brow, he asks, “So I don’t need to call first? That seems counter intuitive from what you just said.”

 

Gavin’s face heats and he scratches his nose nervously, as if can hide it from Nines’ inquisitive gaze. “W-what? No! That’s not—fuck, you know what I mean.”

 

Nines tilts his head. _No, I really fucking don’t._

 

“Look, the breaking and entering shit is—well, it’s creepy.”

 

Nines frowns. “I can leave, if that’s what you—”

 

“N-no! No, not—fuck, I don’t want you to—” His blush deepens as he stops himself, scuffs his foot on the floor and looks anywhere but at Nines. “Maybe text first, that’s all I’m saying.”

 

Huh. Nines never considered that.

 

“I...suppose I can give you some warning. If it would put your mind at ease,” Nines says, though he doesn’t understand what the big deal is anyway. If there’s a locked door and he wants to get in, he’s going to get in.

 

Gavin hovers close, peers over Nines shoulder to see what’s on the stove. “Whatcha got?”

 

“Food.”

 

“Obviously, dumb ass. What did you make?”

 

“Your skills in observation must be failing you if you are unable to identify what is in front of you.”

 

“...dick.”

 

The gangster smirks.

 

Nines knows precisely what the detective’s doing, would roll his eyes if he had the luxury of dropping the pretense, as Gavin lingers within his personal space. Gavin’s body craves affection, always finds ways to hint at how much he wants Nines’ touch, but there’s something that seems to hold the detective back from initiating contact. So Nines slides an arm around Gavin’s waist, feels the detective relax in his grip as he pulls him into his arms to kiss him softly. It’s getting easier to do this, now that he’s had practice.

 

He hears Gavin make a sound in his throat, and slides his hands low on the detective’s hips. Already, he can feel Gavin responding as the kiss deepens, tongue sliding hungrily against his, a filling cock pressing into his thigh. It should be off-putting and there’s a time when it would have been: Nines has never found any glory in an easy hit, would scrunch his nose at feeling cheap fabric beneath his fingertips. He’s had men far more beautiful than the detective, would argue Gavin’s certainly not the more attractive Reed/Kamski sibling, and compared to what he knows he can get, he’s settling for mediocrity the longer he indulges this charade.

 

And yet...the smell of Gavin’s cheap body spray, the burn of stubble against his pale skin, the way those fingers curl into the collar of his shirt to tug Nines’ face down at the right angle to accommodate Gavin’s shorter height...all of it has Nines responding with the same eagerness as the detective, the familiarity of _Gavin_ doing more for him than his brief flirtations with cocaine and MDMA had ever done. There’s something intoxicating—addictive, about kissing Gavin, that has him gripping the detective possessively against him, and suddenly, Nines can’t be sure how much of this is pretense.

 

He breaks off the kiss, feels Gavin sigh against his lips. _It’s only a game_ , he reminds himself and he needs to remember his own boundaries, not let the act get to his head. He presses a chaste kiss to Gavin’s scar, feels the detective flinch at the gesture: a sobering reminder that Gavin’s bound by his own insecurities, knows his physical “flaws” are only one facet of what makes him undeserving of the affection Nines gives “freely”.

 

Surprisingly, it’s the very thing Gavin dislikes most about his appearance that Nines finds oddly attractive. He’s been called deranged for it before (by Gavin, no less) but Nines can’t help it: the violence written in the detective’s flesh is most intriguing to him, a history of reckless behavior he’s enjoyed unraveling. He’s always had a thing for scars.

 

“Some asshole shanked me back in juvie,” is all Gavin said, when Nines had inquired about it one night in bed. He tried deflecting attention from it but Nines was tracing it with his thumb, following the faded tip of it that stretched to just beneath the detective’s left ear lobe. Gavin must have really pissed someone off.

 

“I think it’s incredibly sexy,” Nines had said, and he had meant every word of it. For once.

 

The detective begins toying with Nines’ tie and it pulls the gangster from his thoughts.

 

“Thanks, uh, for making this,” Gavin says, as he becomes suddenly bashful, can’t quite look Nines in the eyes. There’s a nervous smile on his lips and the way he expresses his gratitude, with a hint of disbelief, exposes another layer of the detective’s vulnerability.

 

Nines’ traitorous heart skips.

 

* * *

 

_March 2039_

 

He awakens, sweat dotting his forehead, the montage of images in his mind fading to the peripheral of his focus as he warily transitions from the confusing state of his nightmares to the precarious coherency that comes with waking. He hears Connor’s voice in his head, a broken and angry note that screams his name, and as his grip tightens around the man whose back he’s pressed to, the phantom sensation of blood soaking his hands has Nines wondering if that’s what his clammy hands are smearing all over Gavin’s chest.

 

No. But it was only a dream—memories exacerbated by the horrors his twisted mind indulges—of the night Connor abandoned him for good.

 

“ _I did this for you!”_ Nines had screamed, bloodied hands grasping Connor by his coat roughly. His voice had hitched as if in anger but in truth, it had been fear that made him lash out: Connor was the last person he had left, the last person he thought _loved_ him, and nothing terrified him more than being truly alone in this fucked up world.

 

Connor had looked at him with such resentment that it broke something inside Nines, something he’s never been able to get back. _“You’ve gone too far this time, Rich! The things you’ve—the things I’ve done because of_ you— _I’ll never forgive you for this!”_

 

And then Connor left him alone on that road, Nines’ ripped jeans and leather coat stained in gore, and Nines had no choice. He ended up dialing the number of the one man who could get him out of the shit he’d gotten into and he’s been indebted to Kamski ever since.

 

He drops his head to the crook of Gavin’s neck, exhales slowly to chase the last of these memories. He doesn’t need to be thinking of this right now, needs to pull himself together.

 

“...babe?”

 

Gavin’s speech slurs as he stirs awake, shifts slightly in Nines arms. Nines hides his face, caught off guard in a moment of vulnerability that he doesn’t want Gavin to see.

 

But he feels the detective tense and knows he’s not fooling him.

 

“Babe, what’s wrong?”

 

He should deflect. There are parts of himself he promised himself he would never expose to anyone, least of all to a _job_ , and yet his grip tightens on Gavin, his sigh shaky as he presses the words to the detective’s throat, as if willing them to disappear in the space between them. “Don’t leave.”

 

“It’s...” and he feels Gavin shift, “4:30 in the morning. Where the fuck would I go?”

 

Gavin’s left shoulder is digging into Nines’ patched wound. But Nines bears it, nuzzles Gavin to breathe in more of the detective’s scent, finds it’s calming the jack hammering pound of his erratic heartbeat. There’s gentle teasing in Gavin’s voice but it does little to disguise the detective’s obvious concern for his lover.

 

And that’s what they are: lovers. Nines can tell himself all he wants that Gavin is just an assignment but there’s a point at which that stopped meaning anything.

 

“Nines?”

 

In the dim lighting that peeks through the open doorway, Nines can just make out the thin grays of Gavin’s irises, the detective’s expression uncertain as he reaches up to gingerly cradle Nines’ cheek. His rough hands, worn from the years of abuse this world has wrought on him, are the anchor Nines needs to keep from drowning in the sudden wave of despair that assaults his thoughts, that voice in his head telling him that Gavin’s like all the rest and if he knew _everything_ that Nines has done, he’d never look at him this way again.

 

Not trusting himself to speak, Nines presses his lips to Gavin’s, has his hands utter what his tongue will not as one slides up to rest over the detective’s heart. Nines has never been one for sentiment, has only used it to lure Gavin into a false sense of security to open him up to the gangster’s manipulations. But now, more than ever, he needs that sentiment to keep from crashing, even if all of it has been built on a lie.

 

Coaxing his mouth open, Nines deepens the kiss, is rewarded with a soft sound as Gavin’s hand slips to the back of his neck, his fingers toying with the short hairs. Beneath his palm, Nines can feel the steady beating of the detective’s heart and it momentarily grounds him as he slips into the charade that’s become as reflexive as breathing, as he pretends that this is who he’s always been with Gavin. If he keeps pretending, then maybe Gavin will, too.

 

Almost too soon, Gavin’s breaking off the kiss. His exhales are quiet pants that tickle Nines’ cheek.

 

“Darling, let’s—”

 

“Don’t bullshit me, Nines,” Gavin says. He traces beneath the bandages he’d helped change earlier, a frown on his lips. “Not after that shit from the other day. Tell me what’s wrong.”

 

His insistence should be more irritating than it is: Nines rarely responds well to orders he doesn’t feel obligated to follow and few have ever lorded that power over him. But there’s an exhaustion that comes with always running from his insecurities and as he’s lying in the dark of that hotel suite, the opulence he surrounds himself with is suddenly overbearing, yet another facade. There’s something in the blunt yet honest way that Gavin treats him—that he always has—that makes Nines want to give in and voice the one thought ringing in his head.

 

_Don’t leave me, too._

 

And yet, the words can’t quite leave his tongue.

 

So instead, he’s spooning Gavin once more, pressing the entirety of himself against the detective so that he’s touching as much of him as he can, and threads his fingers through the detective’s. He kisses the back of Gavin’s neck, lips lingering each time they’re met with olive flesh, and in between each one, it’s as if he’s whispering a litany of silent commands: _Don’t leave. Stay. Don’t leave. Stay._

 

His filling cock presses to the detective’s rear and Nines grinds gently against it, his hand dipping low to tease the trail of hair that starts beneath Gavin’s bellybutton. There’s a quiet moan that Gavin fails to swallow and he’s grinding back onto Nines’ cock and Nines hopes that it’s enough, that Gavin won’t try and coerce the truth out of him. Nines has always been easy with words that are empty: it’s the ones that unlock those insecurities he keeps buried he struggles to give voice to.

 

“I want you,” Nines whispers, his voice cracking with need.

 

He feels Gavin’s hesitation, half-expects the rejection before it’s said. Gavin’s been reluctant to do this since patching up Nines’ the night before and while they blew each other earlier, Nines has been desperate to have Gavin since making up from their fight.

 

“Nines, your wo—”

 

“Gavin, _please._ ”

 

And Gavin must know that what Nines is asking for is more than just a fuck.

 

Nines never begs.

 

At Gavin’s silent nod, Nines begins lavishing Gavin’s shoulder with wet kisses, his hand reaching lower to grasp the detective’s erection. Gavin exhales sharply as Nines takes him from the base, sliding his hand up with a familiar pressure that comes with months of having explored the detective’s body, learning all the ways Gavin loves to be touched and committing it to memory to make him more effective in his seduction. Stubble scrapes against Nines’ face as Gavin tilts his head, presses a chaste kiss to the gangster’s temple and fuck, does Nines love the way his skin feels when Gavin does that, rolls his thumb appreciatively over the head of Gavin’s dick. It has the detective whimpering and Nines seeks out that wanton mouth, pumps his hand along Gavin’s cock as he kisses him hungrily. His own cock weeps with need, smears precum where it digs against Gavin’s ass and Nines can’t wait to bury himself once more in that tight heat he’s claimed repeatedly since that night in the warehouse.

 

“Lube,” Nines says roughly, not wanting to take his hand off Gavin for even a moment to reach for the bottle that sits on the nightstand. He licks a line between two of the freckles on the side of Gavin’s neck, has the detective choking out a sound when he cups him. He rolls his sac in his palm, gives it a gentle tug and the breathless shudder Gavin’s making has Nines mouthing at his neck, pulling skin between his lips to suckle on the flesh. He’s worn his share of marks these past few weeks as the detective has taken many an opportunity to make his claim in Nines’ flesh and it’s earned him some eye rolls from Kamski (“Really, Nines? I said _distract_ him, not _fuck_ him” though the effective results has him otherwise pleased) and he feels it’s only appropriate he return them in kind.

 

Besides, there’s still that side of him that hopes some day, Gavin fails to carefully conceal the bruises and Connor sees that Gavin is no longer _his_ , that the powerful hold he once had on Gavin has been broken. Gavin doesn’t have to voice who it is that owns him; just Connor knowing that it’s no longer him is enough to sate Nines’ possessive nature.

 

Nines takes the lube and squeezes a generous amount into his hand, coats his fingers with the viscous substance. He repositions himself slightly, sliding one arm beneath Gavin’s neck, curling it so his hand rested on the detective’s chest, and then presses his lubed fingers between Gavin’s cheeks. Gavin’s always tight and it seems no amount of fucking has relaxed any of that sweet resistance, this time being no exception as a long finger pushes past the first ring of muscles. Gavin’s body bears down against the intrusion but his gasp of approval is all the encouragement Nines needs to pull out and thrust his finger back in.

 

“B-babe,” Gavin moans as Nines slowly fucks him open.

 

Warmth curls in the gangster’s chest at the term of endearment and he slides another finger inside of Gavin, careful in his stretching as he’s becoming less and less patient to have the detective. A sound akin to a growl echoes in his throat, and he’s unconsciously rubbing against Gavin’s ass, as if to remind the detective that _This is what you’ll be getting._

 

By the time Nines has added a third finger, Gavin’s become a whimpering mess, rolling back his hips to fuck himself on the gangster’s hand. Nines scissors his fingers, prepares Gavin for what he’s going to be receiving, but there’s only so much time he’s willing to spend pushing them into the detective when every moment the detective’s walls squeeze around them makes him grow more desperate to replace them with his cock. His fingers brush that spot that makes Gavin elicit a long moan and Nines can’t wait any longer, is pulling out even as the detective makes a whine in protest.

 

“Can’t wait. Need you _now_ ,” he growls into Gavin’s ear, that last syllable cracking in desperation.

 

He stretches across them, reaches blindly for the nightstand as Gavin grasps the back of his neck, tugs him down for a rough kiss. He can still taste traces of nicotine from earlier and for once, isn’t inwardly cringing from the shitty menthols Gavin insists on smoking. He’s become so acclimated to its flavor that he can’t imagine Gavin _not_ tasting like this and it has his dick throbbing harder the longer it’s taking him to find the fucking condoms.

 

Hissing with impatience, he forces himself to pull his mouth away from Gavin’s, glances to the empty side table. Where the fuck did he put the condoms again?

 

The realization has him dropping his head to Gavin’s shoulder and exhaling in frustration.

 

“I left the condoms in the other room,” he grumbles.

 

What a fucking mood killer. Worse, he’ll have to waste precious minutes digging around in his bag for them when he could be curled up behind Gavin, sinking inside of him and leaving evidence of their coupling on every inch of skin his greedy lips could taste.

 

He begins to shift away but his chest barely leaves Gavin’s back before the detective is tugging him against him once more, tilting his face to gaze into Nines’ eyes. Though his eyes are blown open in lust, there’s an intensity to them that silences any complaint Nines is about to make. Gavin’s voice is quiet but not without a tremor, his body aching for Nines as desperately as Nines aches for his, “You clean?”

 

Nines is about to answer that he hasn’t touched any drugs in years, learning early on in his youth that his predilection for stimulants would only lead him down a path of no return. It takes him a moment to realize that’s not the kind of “clean” Gavin’s asking about.

 

“Yes,” he answers, honestly.

 

He’s loathe to admit it—and probably wouldn’t even if Gavin asked—but it’s been too long since he’s been with anyone else. And even then, given the sort of company Nines tends to keep, he knows better than to go in unwrapped.

 

“Then we don’t need them.”

 

And everything in Nines’ world stops.

 

There are warnings bells going off in his head because he knows, he knows that this means _something_ and that if they proceed, there would be no turning back. And while there’s that manipulative side of him, the part that’s still pretending to play this game, that’s telling him _This is what you need to do to make him yours completely_ , there’s another side of him that wants this, for reasons that go against the code he’s lived by for so long.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

The words come out roughly, lodged so thickly in this throat, it’s as if he’s terrified of asking.

 

_Don’t trust me, you fucking idiot,_ he almost wishes he could say.

 

Everything that’s led to this moment has been built on a lie, of affection so false, it leaves a sinking sensation of guilt building in Nines’ chest. He’s lied about so much else, what’s to say he’s not lying about this, too?

 

And that’s when Nines startles. Because Nines _never_ feels guilty.

 

“Nines, baby,” Gavin moans, grinding back on Nines’ cock, “I want you to cum inside of me.”

 

_Stop_

 

Nines is kissing Gavin feverishly, pressing his hips to the detective’s ass, cock sliding between his cheeks.

 

_What the fuck are you doing_

 

He grunts out in surprise as Gavin pulls his lower lip between his teeth, bites down hard enough to send a pleasurable trill straight to his dick. All the while, his hand has found the abandoned bottle of lube left on top of the blankets and he’s squirting more onto his fingers, probably getting it all over the expensive linens. But that is a problem the hotel staff can deal with and he’s sure he’ll be charged for damages later, especially after Gavin left those lovely wine stains on the front door. Nines can’t help it: he likes a man with a bit of fire in him.

 

He strokes himself twice, groans against Gavin’s lips: he’s so fucking hard, if he had less self control, he’d keep going until he’s ejaculating on Gavin’s ass, would love to paint some part of that olive skin in his hot cum before he’d inevitably lick it off the detective. Gavin’s called him out for being a _cum slut_ , a title Nines has proudly earned from the times he’s swallowed and cleaned up the detective’s spunk with his tongue.

 

Nines has no excuse: he’s a man of refined tastes and it just so happens, Gavin tastes fucking delicious.

 

But not tonight. Tonight, he’s gonna have Gavin in a way he’s never claimed him before and though his head is screaming at him to _STOP_ , Nines stopped listening to reason the moment Gavin gave his consent.

 

He positions himself against Gavin’s entrance, aching cock dripping with lube. His pulse is racing wildly, sticky fingers entangling with Gavin’s, who gives his hand a firm squeeze. The gesture has Nines’ chest fluttering and he tries not to let the feeling go to his head, mouths gently at Gavin’s jaw to distract himself from the many emotions threatening to surface. Just as he’s about to push in, he senses a hesitation in Gavin.

 

“Just...promise me you’ll be careful.”

 

He gazes quizzically into Gavin’s eyes. They’ve had sex enough times now, he thought the detective was quite used to his...size.

 

“I can spend more time prepping you, if that’s what you require.”

 

His dick weeps in protest but given what Gavin’s offered to do, Nines is willing to make that extra effort to ensure Gavin’s completely comfortable.

 

“Babe, if the next thing you put in me isn’t your cock, I’m doing this shit myself,” the detective says. He glances pointedly at the bandaging covering Nines’ wound. “I meant your shoulder. If that reopens, you fucking stop, got it?”

 

_You’re really worried about me_

 

And he’s saying those words again in his head, the same ones he’d accidentally uttered the other night. It still shocks him and it _shouldn’t_ because this is what he wanted, what he set out to accomplish when he was given the task of distracting the detective. Gavin Reed caring about anything but himself has always been the end goal.

 

But the more Gavin directs that concern at Nines, the more Nines is beginning to believe that he had made a serious miscalculation when he profiled the detective as “selfish”.

 

“I’ll try,” Nines whispers, voice thick with emotion he refuses to define. So he plays up his seduction, his breath tickling the edge of Gavin’s ear, “But I should warn you that once I’m inside you, I may have a hard time stopping.”

 

The tip of his cock begins to breach Gavin and it’s an explosion of sensations Nines isn’t quite prepared for, years since he’s been reckless enough to bareback with anyone. His mistrust of everyone is one thing he’s not quite ready to relinquish and had it not been for Gavin’s thorough medical records, there’s no way Nines would even be attempting this. But that doesn’t change how amazing it feels to have his bare cock push into the detective, to feel his inner walls strain to accommodate Nines’ thickness. Nines moves ever slowly—partly because he knows Gavin needs the time to adjust but also Nines doesn’t trust himself to not blow his load too quickly, not when being inside Gavin is this fucking good _._ It’s knowing that this is all _his_ , that Nines can have Gavin like _this_ because there’s no one else—there _won’t_ be anyone else—that has him clinging to the detective tightly, reluctant to allow even an inch of space between them.

 

Gavin’s gasping, pulling their linked hands to his chest and gripping hard, as Nines fully sheaths himself inside the detective.

 

“You feel so perfect, Gavin,” and Nines doesn’t expect his voice to be that heavy, to waver with such emotion. It’s the most raw and honest he’s ever been during sex and he almost wishes he can take it back, doesn’t need to expose himself anymore than he already has.

 

But then Gavin’s turning his face, kissing the corner of his mouth, eyes shimmering with everything he’s too afraid to speak and Nines realizes that Gavin’s just as terrified with what this all means. Yet the hand not gripped in his is coming up to brush aside the strands of hair that have clung to his face, the tenderness of his touch making Nines’ heart thud dully. “Nines...”

 

And perhaps, that’s all he needs to say. Nines’ name is as powerful as any words of devotion, in some ways, more so, because only Gavin can utter it in such a way to make it mean _everything._

 

He moves his hips, pulling out only halfway before pushing back in, shuddering breathlessly as he fills Gavin completely. Euphoric trills of bliss ripple low in his abdomen and he noses the side of Gavin’s neck, breathes in the scent of him to keep grounded. It would be so easy to lose himself in the multitude of sensations he’s experiencing and he wants to make this last, wants to have one of these nights between them be honest. The fears that have surfaced from the nightmares he’s tormented by are a plague upon his fragile mental state and the thought recurs, the one he’s tried to avoid uttering as he takes Gavin, his hips rolling lazily as he builds a steady rhythm.

 

_Don’t leave me_

 

Quiet groans tumble from Gavin’s lips and he tilts his head back, allows Nines to swallow every sound he makes as his mouth reclaims the detective’s. All the while, Gavin’s hand has not released Nines’.

 

_I need you_

 

Nines needs to keep kissing Gavin, needs to keep his mouth distracted. The words resound so loudly in his mind, he knows they will escape the moment his lips are no longer occupied with the canvas of olive flesh he has before him. When Gavin becomes too breathless to keep kissing him, Nines’ lips pepper the detective’s skin with gentle bites, nipping and teasing his way to the detective’s shoulder. His name becomes a hoarse cry—a plea, as Gavin begs him to bring both of them to the release they so desperately seek.

 

_I don’t want to be alone_

 

As the pleasure builds, Gavin meets Nines with each thrust, rocking back onto his cock with vigor. Nines feels that pressure climbing, that ache growing as he teeters close to the edge and he intends on bringing Gavin with him, wants to wreck him as thoroughly as he’s wrecking himself. It takes only a minute shifting of his hips to angle himself perfectly to piston against that spot that will have Gavin seeing stars and Nines holds nothing back, ravishes the detective’s neck with kisses as he hits that spot repeatedly.

 

“Nines!” Gavin’s crying out. “F-fuck, Ni—!”

 

And he’s cumming untouched, voice breaking into a loud moan. Some of it hits Nines’ arm, still wrapped around Gavin, but most of it makes it onto the linens or the detective himself. His inner walls contract and it’s too much for Nines, who has only to thrust up once more before he’s whiting out, face buried in the crook of Gavin’s neck to stifle his groans. He spills hot and hard inside the detective, empties himself with each roll of his hips, and it’s that knowledge that he’s leaving a part of himself inside Gavin that overwhelms him, has him clutching the detective tightly.

 

Eventually, he stops moving, pants quietly to fill his lungs with air, his exhales tickling Gavin’s sweat-flecked skin. For a long while, neither of them say anything, content to lay in the dark as a comfortable silence shields them from the realities of who they are outside of this hotel suite, of the roles they need to play. There’s so much blood that’s flowed by his hands and Nines knows there will always be more casualties, more “inconveniences” that will need to be dealt with. But for once, he’s content to keep those violent urges at bay.

 

_Don’t ever leave me_

 

He sighs as he removes his cock from Gavin, rests his head back on the pillow as he continues to spoon him. Already, he can see the plethora of marks forming on the detective’s skin, each one proof of his possession. Gavin Reed is _his_ and Nines knows that it cannot last, that everyone always finds a reason to abandon him: his birth parents, his adopted parents, Connor...some day, Gavin will, too.

 

In a surge of affection, he takes Gavin’s lips, kisses him with a quiet urgency to convey everything he doesn’t want to say. There’s a softness to the detective’s gaze when Nines pulls back, his thumb swiping at a stray droplet that’s dripped down to the side of his nose.

 

Sweat, perhaps.

 

But Gavin doesn’t comment on it any more than Nines would if it was the detective caught in a delicate emotional state.

 

“Gonna clean up,” Gavin says quietly, slowly easing out of Nines’ embrace.

 

Nines pulls him back against his chest, his grip on the detective tight. He’s trembling, hands shaking so hard, as an illogical fear has ice flowing through his veins. “Stay,” he commands anxiously, hiding his face between Gavin’s shoulder blades. His voice quivers. “A bit longer.”

 

Gavin tenses and Nines can already hear the unasked question, the concern the detective wishes to voice. But Nines isn’t ready to be this candid and Gavin seems to know that and this should worry Nines, should be the warning he needs that Gavin’s gotten as deep into his head as he has the detective’s.

 

Instead, Gavin relaxes in his arms. “Okay.”

 

And he stays there, long after sleep has taken him, as Nines remains wide awake, clutching the detective like a terrified child clings to their blanket as shadows wreak havoc on their wild imagination. He sees the ending as clear before him as he manipulated their beginning and the first step is always the breaking of his rules, of taking the game too far.

 

If he never sleeps with a target, he certainly doesn’t fall for them.

 

And in that, he’s already failed.

 

_Don’t leave_

 

_Don’t leave_

 

_Don’t leave_

 

But he knows Gavin will.

**Author's Note:**

> So I hope some of you aren't too disappointed over how duplicitous Nines is...


End file.
